


call 1-800-TRUSTME (love is just a firestorm away)

by liveonanon



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Sex, Angry Sex, Aomine Daiki/Kuroko Tetsuya - past, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dress Up, Erotic haircuts, Food, Frottage, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, M/M, OT7, OT7 - Miracles plus Kagami, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Post-Coital Cuddling, Rimming, Soulmates, Suits, Swearing, a little bit of power play, kinda soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-01
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-02-19 13:41:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2390411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liveonanon/pseuds/liveonanon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Future AU - all the Miracles plus Kagami live in the same house for college. This works about as well as you can imagine (that is to say, like a house on fire). Thankfully there's Kagami, armed with mad life skillz - it's no wonder the Miracles imprint on him one after another. The rest is just, well, staking a claim.</p><p>(This piece is six parts of the Miracles being possessive of their newest family member. But mostly porn.)</p><p>1.  [KiseKaga]  the best sartorial choices (are the ones you get to take off)<br/>2.  [KuroKaga]  say nothing (i hear you loud and clear)<br/>3.  [AoKaga]  can't say the four letter word (let it burn, burn, burn)<br/>4.  [MidoKaga]  place your bets and alibis (the best lies are mostly truth)<br/>5.  [MuraKaga]  time and patience (is the sweetest spice)<br/>6.  [AkaKaga] snip and grow (a centimeter straighter, a second older)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the best sartorial choices (are the ones you get to take off)

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how I got so flowery (actually, I blame Glen Duncan). Why so flowery, ansibs?
> 
> That said, this fic has been in the wings for a while. I still have a few more to go - and some parts have to be tweaked majorly - but I think the gist is written. Unfortunately some parts are longer than others, but hopefully I captured everyone okay.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kise's pretty fashion conscious, so he knows every piece in his wardrobe plus some of his housemates', so when he sees Kagami wearing his stuff, he kind of loses it. In the best way possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh so this is the KiseKaga I've always wanted to write with Kagami in a borrowed suit and Kise unrepentently sexing him up. The inspiration is from Stark_Black's [Memories](http://archiveofourown.org/works/495647/chapters/867669), which is also an awesome fic that I've reread a bajillion times. I think Kise's too flowery and vague, but - well. See note about Glen Duncan, it takes a while for his prose to die down in my mind.
> 
> Also, this is for [nullityCoder](http://archiveofourown.org/users/nullityCoder), who is an amazing writer and said she was weak to KiseKaga. So tada! Here ya go :D

He usually likes bright colors, fast cars, flashy things. He doesn't mind how people stare at them, at him, not in the least. In fact he revels in it - wants to get down on his back and roll in them, long lines of fabric straight from the roll, satiny and wool-scratchy and expensive fur. He thinks of himself like a shallow version of Akashi sometime, who appreciates expensive things for the quality, a pleasurable consideration that is soul-deep as he pauses for a moment to take in the superbness of his own wardrobe - but Kise's normal love is a brief, flitting thing that flutters in and out like the momentary waft of perfume when someone leans too close, or the fleeting ten seconds after an hour of foreplay. Temporary things.

It takes much, much more for something to stick and stay there, nail-in-the-coffin style, to make him stop and stare every time he walks past. Something that strikes him thunderbolt-hard, makes his stomach curl with this, this aching sweetness that rises like a tsunami-flood to his throat and his eyes water just a little because the feeling's so intense.

Kagami is wearing his rattiest sweatshirt.

Two sizes too large for him, some giveaway at some event. Kise can remember what he had to wear for three hours, a pair of Kelvin Klein jeans with the plainest Fuelsage buckle he had and a butt-ugly turquoise T-shirt that looked like it had been dyed from sea kelp. Somebody hadn't picked up their raffle prize; sweatshirt sales hadn't been as popular as predicted. Whatever the reason, fourteen-year-old Kise got a XXL American-sized sweatshirt that he had been too ashamed to wear out in public so it got relegated to house-bumming and vegging in front of the TV. And apparently, a prime target for clothes poaching, though why Kagami would want something so old and fuzzy the black has turned gray instead of Kise's fabulous belt and scarf collection -

\- the deep-groan-worthy sight of Kagami's broad shoulders filling out his clothes, sleeves pushed up past his elbows pauses, rewinds, takes in the moment from a more analytical angle. Kise blinks as the train jumps track. Kagami who never actually asks for anything, never actually complains about six new people comet-crashing into his life, never really says anything important about himself, has zeroed in on the one item in Kise's wardrobe that survived Teikou and Kaijou and still smells like Kise no matter how many loads of laundry it gets tossed into, sloshed with other peoples' clothes. 

Kagami, who has turned around and _is taking off Kise's sweatshirt_.

"No!" the blond cries. Kagami freezes at the command. "I mean, it's okay, Kagamicchi. You can keep it if you like."

The freeze persists for another long moment before reluctantly Kagami begins to move his arms again - Kise can't tell whether he's taking it off or putting it back off. No, wait, it's the latter, which just won't do. Two strides and Kise's yanking the hem down. Kagami's head shoots back into the hood.

Kise gives his best modeling smile but of course it doesn't work, because embarrassed-Kagami is socially hypersensitive. "Kagamicchi, I mean it. It was a freebie from something a long time ago, if you want it -"

And the tension kicks up another notch, because Kagami's flushed, jaw set, obviously caught in the act of wanting, which is ridiculous because Kise is someone who wants all the time and never lets it get in the way of action. But even he knows things are serious when Kagami interrupts. "I shouldn't have taken it." The crime drops with a thud, hot coals rolling around their feet.

Kagami is ashamed, insistent and alone not ten centimeters away, and that's unforgivable. Kise lets his show-smile fall into something softer. He knows he's done the right thing when Kagami's shoulders come down. 

"I don't mind, Kagamicchi. I just think you could have taken something a little more attractive. I wouldn't have minded that either." A vision of Kagami turning away from the full-length mirror in Kise's room, decked out in fitted jeans, boots and that off-white linen shirt with spiral designs stenciled in. Something on his ear, not too bright, dull silver like the ring. Matching belt, a plain ring with a dark stone - Kise is pulling Kagami away from the stove, heedless of the yelp, calling for Murasakibara in the living room who stops mid-complaint to lumber bearlike into the kitchen as Kagami's replacement lest all of them end up without lunch tomorrow before dragging Kagami up the stairs. 

He's still muttering as Kise tears through his closet, fingering the frayed hem of the sweatshirt and the holes for thumbs in the sleeves. Kise catches him just in time at the third and final glance at the door before (presumably) Kagami plans to make his escape by thwapping him right in the chest with hangers. "That's Armano, so if you ruin it, I'll kill you," he warns sweetly, and Kagami treats the baggage with a little more care, lifting it with a frown.

Kise's never seen Kagami in a suit. _None of them_ have seen Kagami in a suit as far as Kise knows, but if someone has, he would be jealous, except he's seen it now too. This one has always been a bit wide on the shoulders, and on Kagami it's not perfect either, but still it has the ability to turn Kagami into a stranger. An even more unfamiliar unknown, once Kise has sat him down in front of the desk and slicked back his hair to protests of "I just showered!", and applied the barest bit of makeup before Kagami twists away. The familiar bit of "I'm not a girl" gets thrown around before Kise's patience gives out and he grips Kagami's cheeks, probably smearing the foundation, and seizes the bottom lip between his teeth.

Kagami tastes like every kiss should from a regular man - except somehow it doesn't, it's just Kise projecting his something feelings onto something he can't think it's all Kagami's fault... his hands smooth down Kagami's chest, probably spreading wrinkles in their wake, he gropes for the drawer and comes out with the silk handkerchief he forgot there from last week's shoot, folds it, tucks it lovingly in the jacket pocket. Meanwhile Kagami's hands haven't moved from Kise's hips, they're tracing absently back and forth as he sucks breath after breath through his nose. Deep inhales with the same kind of concentration he usually reserves for identifying elusive herbs in food. Kise deeply appreciates the look he receives when they break free and Kagami looks hungry, lips and eyes watery.

"You could do with some eyeliner," Kise pats down the gel a little more. Kiss-stunned, Kagami lets him without a single twitch or change in expression. "And maybe a bit of gloss." He smears it on but it might as well not exist; Kagami looks delectable as is.

Regretfully Kise unfolds backwards so he can guide Kagami to the mirror. The lust clears a little and now it is with a curious kind of frowny attention that the redhead pays himself clad in unfamiliar gray with faint lines that make him look longer, taller than he already is. His shoulders look impossibly broad, Bond-style, and the tips of his ears are covered by strands of hair that have escaped from his hairdo. All calculated, and Kagami seems to understand this. His next look, a side silhouette as he turns to examine the back, melts into reluctant understanding.

When he turns back his ring catches the light, nestled in the open fold of the first button, and Kise feels it is his own defenses come undone, spilling onto the street as the tsunami takes him by surprise. He can identify it now as possessiveness from the first second he saw Kagami wearing his scent, rubbing his own alongside Kise's. Wibbling, trembling frantically in defiance are all the stiff, practical reasons Kagami might not have clothes to wear: Aomine procrastinated on the laundry again, Kise's sweatshirt was closer at hand, Kagami grabbed the wrong item by mistake - and all of them are pushed away as jealousy rears its ugly head.

It will only be appeased by one thing, and that thing is taking Kagami by the lapels of Kise's perfect suit, slamming him into the wall next to the mirror, and taking that equally perfect mouth by storm. Kagami freezes again and then grows hot, hands doing more than gripping this time, wandering up Kise's side to his shirt. Pulls it out, slides his fingers under, Kagami's quick and clever digits that turn dull, ordinary vegetables into tasty edible art in Kagami's bright and humble colors - scraping nails up Kise's sides so laughter bubbles in the kiss. Kagami's grin nips at Kise's nose and he lifts one hand to bat his cheek, tsks an admonishing finger, _naughty naughty Kagamicchi_. Kagami takes the finger into his mouth, eyes half-lidding as he sucks deep, lips sliding down to the base. Kise dips another in at the next thrust, then another. There isn't much more in the world he likes more than sucking cock, but he's in no way adverse to letting other people enjoy themselves.

He doesn't have to do more than squeeze Kagami's shoulder before the redhead releases his fingers with a pop and drops to his knees. Before he gets comfy on the carpet Kise drags him in front of the mirror, back to the reflective surface - he's in Journal Standards and United Arrow today, what a pity, but at least he makes cheap look good - in the next moment he arches forward, gasping, because Kagami's taken him deep without warning, stretched wide and mouth glistening as he works back and forth. Kise's fast growing thick and hard, rising to the Kagami's palate, and he likes it, pushing his tongue to imprint Kise's shape into his skin. He drools a little and a drop hits the slacks - but Kise only has eyes for the sweep of Kagami's hair that he destroys now with a careless grip that seizes half of the hairdo, wrenching Kagami's throat and chin upward. Teeth scrape, Kagami moans at the new angle, and all the breath rushes from Kise's lungs in a prolonged shudder. He thrusts again and the hard, white border into wet saliva warmth against the vein is more exquisite than any number of covetous eyes on him.

 _Give me_ , but he can't quite get the words out, _all of you_. They remain strictly locked in his throat, a combination of arousal combating his ability to speak and the vague mental reminder that Kagami is not only his. Still with each thrust he vows he'll say it on the next wave. _This is what I like. You in my scent, my clothes, my life. I won't stop until I own you._

He can barely see the bulge tenting the front of Kagami's pants, erection lewdly outlined against the zipper, _oh that has to hurt_ \- but it's the sight of Kagami's big hands, clenching and unclenching against his own hips, that makes him come. Because even in the middle of the act he remembers Kise hates ruining his pricey underwear, and he's carefully tugged it down where his hands can't soil it with sweat. _You're far too good to me. To us_ , is the thought as the shockwaves roll through him. Kagami rides him out, rides out each messy fuck-thrust with hair askew and every elegant line of the suit twisted in favor of filthy purpose - his own cock still untouched, probably leaking hot and ready, because he's afraid to ruin Kise's pants. Kise wouldn't have minded. He'll say this when he gets his breath back, _I don't mind, you can use whatever, all I am is yours and all that._

He can already imagine Kagami's look of dubious disbelief tempered by the frailest flutter of hope. Kagami who's been left behind too many times. Kagami who only lets himself share the fullness of other people's successes and with practical, rational humility only wishes boring, hum-drum things for himself. 

_You are worth so much more than that._

Kagami has not yet learned that lesson, but Kise is trying. They are all trying.

He still looks faintly otherworldly when Kise tumbles gracelessly next to him on the carpet. "Don't tell anyone I did that," Kise says when he stubs his knee on the mirror. Kagami, still a bit lust-stunned, only nods. After a moment Kise fumbles for the zipper, Kagami clumsily fights him for a moment before giving up, and then lets Kise peel off pants and underwear. Just give him a tie and he would look so wrong, Kise thinks. In all the right ways, of course. _Angel on top and sexy devil on the bottom._

His weight is thick and red and as Kise imagined, dripping. Half of his hair falls into his face in a clump when he swings forward to rest his forehead on Kise's shoulder. He pants unintelligible things, raspy, thirsty. A line of white is streaked to his chin and lovingly Kise wipes it off with one sleeve. "So cute, Kagamicchi," he croons.

"Not cute," comes the expected growl in return. Voice soaked and viscous as Kise had thought it might be.

"Not true," Kise sings lightly, as if his hand isn't pumping Kagami to full-blooded height, proud, straining, lightly upcurved towards his stomach. Peeking through the shirt folds, drawing a misshapen blotch on another freebie, except this one Kise had to wheedle for and originally cost 30,000 yen - Kagami belatedly realizes and jerkily pulls up the hem, but too late.

"That's gonna cost you," Kise teases. Sudden wariness knifes through the thick fog of desire; Kagami's black, blown pupils revert back to their normal circumference with alarming speed. It isn't until he registers Kise's still smiling kindly, genuinely, that he settles back down again. But the fond ease of the moment is lost. Now Kise's strokes are tender and light on the droop of Kagami's sex, playfully nuzzling the head this way and that with the pads of his fingers. For a change he cups lower, runs his fingers down the heavy, ready sac, caressing gently. Kagami's neck lowers a fraction. Kise rewards his neck, jaw, and ears with tiny speckling kisses and bites the lobe just hard enough to red line of his teeth for a second.

They're in tune with each other to know a little more is needed. And when it comes to intimacy, Kagami has to be met halfway. Thankfully, like the others, Kise's fantasized a lot about what he would say, if he had to prove his intentions to Kagami or Kagami's brother or any stranger in the world. Words of fierce love and understanding. Of deep affection. Trying to encompass the depth and breadth of seeing Kagami at the stove with his headphones on, shaking his hips to the beat as he stirs the pot. Trying to describe the hand on the small of his back in the wee hours that curls not too tight, not too loose, reassuring in that perfect way that tells Kise who's there. Trying to explain how people fit together, biological puzzle shards, and that Kagami has a special space he carved for himself without trying, before Kise could react.

It's like trying to define 'sky' in a single word that isn't 'sky'.

"You're so cute, Kagamicchi," the nickname rolls off his tongue. " _So_ cute in my clothes. I wish you'd borrow them more often - you sure wear them well. I like seeing you in them, Kagamicchi. In my things." Even if the words aren't registering, the tone seems to fire off something in Kagami's brain. His chin dips lower and he sucks a deep, encouraging breath. "Have you been borrowing without my permission? I couldn't tell at all. I told you, I don't mind. Just, you should have said so. I take payment in pictures, you know." 

His own voice has unconsciously dropped to a sibilant purr. A glance at the mirror shocks him - does he look like this around the house all the time? It puts his glossy magazine pages to shame. His alien reflection licks its lips and nuzzles the side of Kagami's cheek, catalogs the twitch of Kagami's back. Experimentally he pumps his hand firmer; Kagami releases an exhale with a ragged whoosh. 

"I've never seen you in a suit before," Kise admits honestly. "You look really good. _So_ delectable. It makes me think about how you look in more of my things. Some underwear for starters, maybe. You'd look good in silk." He would. "In some hats, you have no hats to speak of. No scarves, too preppy, no wait, I have some grundgy ones. And some boots, you have great calves.

"But I'd be lying if I said I don't like you the best like this. Exposed." This time the shudder is pronounced, a long, drawn out thing like a siren wail. Kagami slumps boneless back onto Kise's shoulder. "Completely nude. We could do this again, don't you think? Have our own private fashion show. And after the pictures -"

Kagami tilts his head up just far enough to give Kise's Adam's apple a little nip with his lips. Kise's heart shoots upward, an exploding firework, at the same time it drags down, an anchor in deep water. Because this is all the selfishness Kagami allows himself. The limit of intimacy from his head: a wordless plea for the foreplay to end and the body of the symphony to begin. Already begging for the end.

Kise tells himself not to be sad, however. It's not a no to his proposition. He reminds himself Kagami probably has no less than ten things on his mind, number one being where Kuroko is, number two being what's going on with dinner, all the way to number ten which is probably how to convince Aomine to do the damn chores he's been assigned. Kagami is a busy guy, just like Kise. And if Kise doesn't want to lose out to the other five people in this crowded household, he's got to stake a damn spot in the roster or his and Kagami's schedules are never going to line up.

"Alright," he sighs placatingly. Kagami's hips move eagerly into the column of his fingers. "As you wish. I could suck you off? Return the favor?" Kagami's grunt is flat and neutral; more telling, he doesn't even pause in fucking Kise's hand. Kise sighs again. "Guess not." Thwarted of further pleasure, he thumbs the head and presses the nail against the hole, exposing - a thicker dribble of white weeps down the length of Kagami's cock, impressively hard. Kise kisses what he can see, the side of Kagami's head, vicious and claiming; hips and hand jerk together, a magnetic rhythm that continues until it starts to fall apart and the familiar sound of Kagami drawing one last desperate inhale makes a throaty sound too high for human ears -

They both exhale slowly from the high as Kagami paints streaks on himself, the Armano, the Gucca, Kise's jeans, the carpet...he looks like an expensive callboy, not that Kise's ever ordered one for himself, decked out in his patrons' goods. And Kise would pay good money to be Kagami's, to be the center of that attention - not that he needs to. Kagami, even grumbling, always lets Kise pull him this way and that. In the beginning his happiness was so simple Kise thought he got it wrong. But Kagami really is happy just seeing others happy.

"Love you, Kagamicchi," he murmurs fondly, and kisses the tip of Kagami's ear. Kagami grunts wordlessly in response - stunned barbarian. Kise giggles as the image of a well-bred ruffian or a thug-turned-rich is broken into simply an oversized, satiated lump of man, molasses-knees with post-coital bliss. Kagami allows himself one more trespass that Kise wishes he would do more of - one more electric jumpstart of Kise's heart as Kagami lips his neck sloppily - before sliding down, down Kise's front, until his hair tickles Kise's stomach. He's centimeters away from where he started, and at the reminder of Kagami's throat obediently swallowing all Kise has to give, his cock gives a feeble twitch. Not yet, then.

"Need to check dinner," the syllables are still grundgy and raw. Emotionless afterthought. Kagami's body betrays his reluctance even if his words don't; it doesn't even give the pretense of getting up and moving any time soon.

Kise doesn't protest. He pets a line with one finger just under the collar of his own pressed shirt, tracing a moist, ticklish line on sun-kissed skin. Grumbling, Kagami bats the hand away. Kise presses his palm against his ear, slides back down to the neck - feels the pulse still jumping away, slowing, slowing again, rabbit feet on dialed-up slow-mo...

In the mirror Kagami's eyes slide half-mast, then all the way down. Dark lashes a solid line that the rest of his body follows, the angles melting into curves, restful and lax. Kise is getting tired just looking at him, at Kagami who always seems to be trudging here and there, pulled this way and that - an exhausting life that leaves no time for himself. Kise suspects that's just the way he likes it, which is a crying shame. Kagami deserves all the nice things, not just Burrberry or Valenta, but long bubble baths and an ocean view. Imported cream and coffee. Buttery massages. Incomprehensible Beverly Hills and decadent, similarly incoherent Paris.

(Oh alright, Kise is just putting his own desires onto him.)

For now, he'll indulge the both of them by not moving. The long roll of Kagami's breath compels him to do thus. And the soft prickle of Kagami's spikes. When he thinks of it, the brand of hot touch on his neck, definitely.

But more than anything, the picture the two of them make, Kagami sun-kissed and terribly athletic, Kise rumpled-classic, still in his shirt and accessories. His bottom bits are beyond the frame of the reflection; Kise's zip is still undone but it is covered with Kagami's head in the way. Anyone with eyes would know what happened due to the formless closeness of their bodies, though the clothes might mislead. Tach Heuer to Versache. Brute Caracena to island Canalee. Two separate looks on a jarring, but fitting whole. 

Because there's no better time to start than now, Kise picks up his phone and snaps a picture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to correct my non-knowledge of fashion. I was just trying to sound smarter than I actually am >.>;;


	2. say nothing (i hear you loud and clear)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kagami and Kuroko celebrate Kuroko's birthday like they've been in each other's skin for years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After writing this chapter I'm convinced a) KagaKuro is still the cutest thing ever, and b) all of the clever KagaKuro things have been said in other fics, mostly not mine. That said, I still love them to bits.

He thinks he's lucky because he doesn't have to try. Kagami gives and takes love freely when it comes to him; he crawls automatically into the space Kuroko has left, big and sleepy and obediently laying out arms and legs to make a partner's cuddle-cradle. Most times they're too tired to do anything more than listen to the sound of the other's breath, the other's heartbeat counterpoint to their own. Two-one. Kagami has always moved with him, and since they met, Kuroko has never considered life without.

They speak together the least out of all of them, because they are past that point in their relationship. The others, not so lucky. Kise's learning curve is the steepest, his eyes are the best, he flies by without a care. Murasakibara communicates through the letters of cakes, cookies, stovetop and spices, and somehow that seems to satisfy the two of them just fine. Aomine hits the right gong only half of the time, maybe less. Midorima is stiff and he says a good too many things that don't matter at all, but Kagami is already attuned to when he fuzzes over soft things by burying them in an avalanche of fact. Akashi doesn't speak at all, absent and alien - patient as usual, waiting for the fervor to die down before he makes his move.

Kuroko is lucky because he already has Kagami's trust, Kagami's first thought, Kagami's first consideration. Kagami's heart. What promises they have to say have been said. What ugly parts they have laid out to be shared. What comfort, what sympathy - Kagami gives all and Kuroko returns the favor. And they go to sleep every night, two boys in the dark turned inward, one unit, one singularity.

But it isn't the nights Kuroko anticipates most. Oh, nights are very well and nice, especially last night. Snow had been falling for two days, a rare occurence, so the yard gave little _kyuu-kyuu_ noises as he drew a wobbly new line to the persimmon tree. He had escaped his own birthday party for a little bit to sit on the back porch, tucked firmly in three layers of socks, foregoing Kagami's present of new gloves for Kagami's own, frayed a little on the fingertips but just big enough to float Kuroko's hands in balloons of warm air. 

Watching icicles and the moon with the background track of Kise's indignant squawk of surprise and Aomine laughing as tried to shove something down the back of Midorima's shirt too (and failing), the beat of Kagami's unfamiliar American music revved louder for a second as Kagami let himself out. Kagami always looks for him first. Kagami always finds him.

It's cute, how Kagami is worrier and mother and the shy pet that winds around its master's ankles - at that moment he had a stack of blankets and was frowning at Kuroko clad in a perfectly servicable ski coat. "You must be freezing your ass off," he said bluntly, and proceeded to turn Kuroko into a fleece mummy.

"I can't see," Kuroko complained. "Also, I would be warmer if you cuddled me." Grumbling (but not really), Kagami complied. Yes, it was more comfortable this way, the same as slipping into a hot bath after a long work day, or lying under a fan on a dog day of summer. Blissful, unrepentant gratification. Kuroko's mind had revolved slowly like the aforementioned fan, watching the blades hover starlike, an untouchable cycle. Kuroko's mind fancies itself a writer most of the time, it comes with the territory of being the household's more voracious reader. Tellingly, both Midorima and Akashi had gotten him gift cards for local bookstores.

And when the negotiations were over, silence had fallen again. Not the cutting type, though. The summer-hush kind, appropriate because Kagami has always burned from sun-warmed steel to hell-hot, the kind that blew softly around his ears, through his bangs. Hair by hair the two of them slumped on the back steps, unmoving except for the minute bend of their spines aligning, getting drowsy and stupid, each second showing fifty-four...sixty-one...sixty-eight...seventy on the battery bar of the world dribbling away to leave Kuroko bare and young, _au naturel_.

At eighty Kagami had flattened the top of Kuroko's head with his cheek and asked, "Are you happy?"

That was exactly the kind of question they asked each other post-coital and pre-slumber; to hear it now made a wiggling, squirming wave of happiness in Kuroko's gut. Kagami was branching out. "Yes," he answered instantly. Kagami nuzzled his hair to hear the genuine, delighted smile in his voice. "I am very blessed."

There was a sad, turned-up corner to the question that Kuroko strained to catch, but it was too fleeting. Instead he was distracted when Kagami placed a line of kisses - one to eighty-two, two to eighty-five, three to eighty-nine, oh Kuroko was starting to feel glutted with satisfaction - up the side of his neck then back down. His tongue teased hot then cold with the weather, not a come-on, not some sleazy sexual invitation, just because. They are here, together. They are holding fast. Because Kuroko is still the last thing Kagami sees before he falls asleep and the first thing he sees when he wakes up.

Sharing kisses just because - Kuroko turned his head, reality overtaken by the red truth of Kagami's mouth, unfurling punch-drunk familiarity with Kuroko the staggering alcoholic. Time drifts like snow, uncaring, inconsequential...in this space Kuroko is wiped clean again of the little frustrations and cares to simply _be_. Kagami never asks more of him.

He can't remember how they got upstairs, or how they even dodged their housemates. He does remember the room, how Kagami had left the heater on in vague hopes of thwarting Kise's plans to steal his _sweet darling Kurokocchi_ for the night (Kuroko objects; he is not a girl; he is not sweet and he is nobody's darling), Aomine and Murasakibara's more straightforward offer of vanilla syrup and lots of foreplay, Akashi's fingers creeping unseen up Kuroko's spine (too demanding to be a question, too elegant to be a command), even Midorima brushing their fingers together when he handed Kuroko's presents over one by one... But it is Kagami who _doesn't_ ask, who holes himself in the kitchen, Kagami who has already resigned himself to swallowing disappointment in love like it is his only due...Kuroko has his trust but only so far, just as Kagami is confident in everything except for this. In this he has to be dragged, a reluctant horse to water. Kuroko has definitely done his share of coaxing.

It took very little last night, though, to remove clothes and socks and gloves, to stare at the play of lamplight on skin. To sigh when hands traced muscles traced neck traced ribs traced the raised and puckered stain on Kagami's butt, the physical reminder of childhood canine trauma. Kuroko is studiously fair, he made sure to give every part its proper due. Kagami had returned the favor, hands cupping Kuroko's ass, holding the globes slightly apart, tongue licking, licking, drilling in, licking... Time again escaped the count of clock or moonset or slow motion of planet. Even heartbeats dragged, rhythm dissolving into a lumpy solution of butter losing shape in the frying pan. All there was, was the next gasp, the next touch, the next flame, the next joining.

Sometime between two hundred and two thousand kisses (Kuroko's battery showed an _Iron Man_ style of three hundred percent, _would you look at that_ ), they had drifted off with the promise to wake up in thirty minutes and had never actually done so. Now it's six or six-thirty, Kagami's usual wake-up time, and he's stirring though his body doesn't make a move. Only his face. His eyebrows bunch and his mouth turns down, stubbornly trying to deny the rightness of time back on its regular axis. Cold, hard reality - literally, since the heater turned off sometime in the night.

He needs very little urging to fall back into the cocoon of their bed when Kuroko stops pretending to be asleep with only a quiet, sleepy, "Kagami-kun." "Hey," is the answer and kiss ten-thousand-but-never-gets-old is mouthy and teethy and doesn't succeed in hiking Kuroko's consciousness past _Okay I think I'm awake_ , where it spans indefinitely into a plateau. Kagami lips eyes, nose, cheek, nibbles chin, lips jaw again, knocks their foreheads together, butterfly kiss, forehead kiss, back to lips, _oh_ , wet and welcome and tender... Like the best kind of conversation that never ends, Kuroko abruptly remembers a fact he can bring up.

"I like you best like this," he says.

Because Kagami knows it's okay, he presses down a little more on Kuroko's hip, just so he can feel Kagami's morning wood. "Horny?"

"That too. But I mean like this. Lazy mornings." Because Kagami is the most honest during this time.

Kagami blinks with surprise. "Yeah?"

"Mmhmm."

They come together in this sense of discovery that only spills, thrilling, into the brush of skin, nails, sex, teeth. The ribbed palate of Kagami's mouth. The silky inside of his thighs. Toes curling when Kuroko crooks his fingers, making spine and cock and nerve endings get up and dance. The first ten minutes are spent fumbling, snickering under the covers until the room heats up again. Then it's a free-for-all: Kagami mock-gnaws Kuroko on the shoulder, calf, hip, back, hungry zombie or uncivilized cannibal or greedy hedonist; Kuroko leaves enough lovebites to rival a horde of starved vampires. (As it is, the five other people that get to see Kuroko's work won't even blink.)

Because Kagami is amiable, biddable, chuckling with a prologue of "Oof!" when he lifts one leg to change the angle and his back cracks, Kuroko slicks himself, applies condom, and slips in. Kagami is stretched from last night, even if Kuroko hadn't just been revisiting the idea on and off for the last half hour, and he only gives a muted kind of humming whine before bending his knee back farther so it almost touches his chest.

Kuroko kisses it. Kisses a line, fleeting fairy pecks in contrast to the meat of the main dish. He starts measured, prim, Kagami's eyes following his every move out, closing briefly with every jerk in. Tides roll unhurried, sifting fingers through the bedsheets - he thrusts deep, so deep Kagami tilts his throat back, blatant invitation except for the leg and Kuroko's lack of reach. He groans low, the sound pulled steadily out of him. Kuroko remembers how questing fingers had become questing tongue last night. He had reacted the same way, orgasm drawn from his gut and balls, giving him the temporary illusion of his brain shooting to outer space to float, spinning in no particular direction, until Kagami's big paws brought him back planetside.

Now he's lifting off again. He guides Kagami, turns him onto his back, hitches up his hips with pillows - plows forth again, the return anxious at first, but then reassured when Kagami reaches for him. Clasps them together, as close as they can - closer, because Kuroko is thumbing Kagami's cock the way he knows he likes, and they're both huffing like champion prank callers. When Kuroko says this out loud in a monotone Kagami laughs until he's breathless. See? This is what Kuroko means by _honest_.

As they shift - new angle, Kagami widens his stance, locks one ankle around Kuroko's waist, then the other - morning light watery through the blinds, turning Kagami's skin vampire-gray, Kuroko does the unlikely thing and pulls out. Doesn't need the rubber, wants to feel Kagami's big hand around the both of them, falls on top of him like a sack of potatoes, _Oof!_ Perhaps he's strange, but he can't begrudge his own honesty either. Kagami knows what they both want the most, drags his chin up - the kiss zings between them, questions and answers, sensations reciprocal and double, rising on thermals together. Heat and flame bloom all over like little flowers until Kuroko is ready, _so_ ready, he's shifting impatient in Kagami's grasp. Now it's just openmouthed breath-share, Kagami's eyelids falling incrementally as the tense spring in him coils tighter, equally prepared to let go -

\- the tide catches them frisking desperately, sloppy and so good and _one_. It doesn't matter how they do, it's always the same. And yet the novelty never wears off - sweet confusion, that old things somehow renew themselves, that the same dents and dips call out to Kuroko with the same unparalleled, puzzling fervor that he indulges to find the pleasure is the same as the first time. _The first time._ Wonder that constructs of flesh and carbon could be so extraordinary if one more human element was added to the equation.

They are sleepy-puppy satiated after vigorous exercise, ignoring clock and the call of nature in favor of imitating pea pods or spoons. Kagami's eyes are deep in that way that says he's on dangerous ground and doesn't care, that Kuroko has given his solid word he'll never walk alone... Kiss, kiss, one million kisses, messy and needy, Kagami reels him in easily, _it's okay I'm here..._

The best kind of morning is the one Kuroko gets all the time, the kind the others are probably jealous of - but if anyone has a right to be possessive, it's him. He was here first. And he matches Kagami, Kagami matches him.

None of them will ever have _this_ particular _Good morning_ , not even if they tried. 

As if reading his thoughts Kagami's eyebrows go up and he says, "Good morning," faintly sarcastic from too much time with Akashi, but mostly wry from his own vocabulary. Kuroko kisses him before he can say anything more about distracting him from the chore list, _how else am I suppose to cajole a bunch of hooligans to take of their own shit if I don't set a good example_ , breakfast, the blinds needing to be closed, Nigou needs to be fed...

Kuroko kisses him until he gives up, snorts, closes his eyes, and tucks himself more securely around Kuroko.

And it _is_ a very good morning.


	3. can't say the four letter word (let it burn, burn, burn)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two boys are fumbling and confused, but not when it comes to the bed. But that's probably why they're so fucked up. AKA, Kagami doesn't understand where he's wrong, and Aomine can't stand he's not right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is pretty much almost all the fucked-up AoKaga I ever planned to write. I mean, I can imagine them as being happily together too, of course, a lot of other fanfics have proven that to me. But for me there's always that line in furiosity's [(Look) What You've Done](http://archiveofourown.org/works/909712/chapters/1761987) that always gets me, that line about always expecting to get hurt. The Kagami in my head has neglectful parents and a brother-turned-lover that said he hated him. Or, the Kagami in my head is sad and lonely and doesn't know how to get over that. I really don't mean it in the weepy sense - the Kagami in my head's also strong enough to not cry over it anymore - but in the way that says he bears it day and day out because he doesn't remember how else to live.
> 
> Also, I tend to write gushy or horny Aomine. This is my first attempt at writing him more...assholic and selfish. Hell knows if I succeeded. >.>;;;

So he's not ashamed he only has two modes, _Okay_ and _Fuck No_. If he was one of the smarter people in this stupid house, there would be all kinds of addendums and endnotes and clarifications, but because he's Aomine Fucking Daiki, he doesn't have all that. Okay, so maybe there's a third category in there that he doesn't like to acknowledge - it goes by the dubious name of _~~Cool~~ Not Completely Shitty_ \- because it's where all the gray, fuzzy unmentionables go (ha that makes Kuroko sound like overwashed tighty-whiteys).

Sometimes he get caught in _degrees_ of the stuff. Seventy percent _Okay_ to thirty percent _Fuck No_. And then he has to remind himself to round up, because he actually hates math and numbers and doesn't understand how some people can revel in it. He's simple. He follows instinct, because instinct doesn't lie.

(Until Kagami.

Instinct told him he was strong, but not that strong. _I was wrong._ Instinct said he was hot, but not smoking. _Tetsu got there first - **Fuck** No._ Instinct said he was just another musclehead, lazy, casual, shrugging off the damage - not that Kagami was some sort of black hole that drank negative and still kept drinking. It made as much sense as setting new Jordans on fire. Or, hilariously, a 190 cm basketball player running away from a husky puppy five percent his body weight.

One of those is true, though, which means Aomine has to accept impossible possibilities.)

The best example of this phenomenon, Aomine isn't actually there for: a fight. It starts Aomine vs. Kagami, something about chore list, something about responsibility, something something lower level lifeforms with no survival life skills, God your ancestors must be rolling in their graves _what did your mother even teach you?_ In a normal, unfair fight with the two of them, Kagami and Aomine both know Kagami can complete said chore in the three minutes it takes to have the argument; Kuroko, the traitor, always pulls for Kagami in these instances, at this point he would chime in and add something about infantile Aomine never growing up; Kise never wins even when he's playing peacemaker for the right cause, all he ever gets is abuse; Midorima just moves to study in his room instead. Akashi and Murasakibara are there sometimes, flies on the wall, or not there.

That's not what happens.

Midorima has a final, he's in the university's twenty-four hour study room. Murasakibara is at his parents' for the weekend. Kuroko is still in counseling with his professor. That leaves Aomine, who wins and takes Kise with him for 1-on-1, and Akashi, said fly on the wall.

 _This_ is the fight Aomine's talking about.

There are no witnesses except for Kagami and Akashi for what they said, and even now it's a strained sticking point sometimes. Ugly, like old bloodstains or roach motels, that's the feeling Aomine gets when he remembers they argued over him. According to Kuroko who's the best wounded-kitty coaxer, Kagami went too far and asked rhetorically why anyone would want a son of a bitch like Aomine? He's like the mangy stray nobody wants. _Argh we should just kick him out!_ His insides twist to imagine that in Kagami's voice, eyes burning, trying so hard to brush off the damage - the four letter word he's never said to anyone but Kuroko coiling onto itself in the background, charred ends black-black-fire-still-eating. Silently condemning.

Cue something about Kuroko's family of choice. He would never give Aomine up, not even if he was the most spoiled pet that ever lived. Kagami scoffs, _I'd rather tame a velociraptor, at least it's smart_. Something about Kagami's grades and the futility of tutoring that barely pulls him above average. Flustered redhead who still can't tell kanji apart after five years of being back. Akashi isn't angry, but he _is_ annoyed, because for the first time he can't bring one of his housemates to his family's annual Tsukimi Dinner and Ball in two months. His father's assigned him some dimply bimbo from Kagoshima. Just the thought of _play nice, you were bred to be the consummate gentleman_ with a female octopus all night gives Akashi a headache.

Hindsight 20/20, and all that.

Kagami's baking something but forgets. He curses Kuroko, the rest of the Miracles, Akashi, Aomine, Akashi again, slamming the door, stalking out for a walk, curses some more, _fuck shit I might as well get the milk dammit forgot my wallet_ \- and charges back into the house to find the whole place in flames.

Aomine's got this scene in his head, _Backdraft_ style, where Kagami tries to charge the front door and finds it's impossible to get in. Then he goes around the side to the kitchen - impossible, that's where the fire started - terrified, heart-in-mouth, blood beating precious ruby seconds - breaks into back door of his and Kuroko's room. Crawls low the ground but he can't stop calling, calling names, terrified, _Where's my cellphone I was only gone for five minutes!_ And oh the wall's caved in Midorima's medical books on the floor, Kagami's brainspace is so similar to Aomine's sometimes it scares him because he can see it, the impossibilities turning possible. 

Tripping over the books, the fallen bookshelf. Solid wood, an old family treasure from the Akashis. Not that priceless antiques help now. Akashi had crawled to the end of the living room trying to get to the back door but collapsed. And then the wall fell on him. Now it's only luck that Kagami, blind, on all fours, feels a too-hot too-sweaty leg under his searching fingers.

In Aomine's mind Kagami heaves this sob, the kind that the main character makes when they've been kicked in the gut, the kind characterized by the dreaded hospital _Beee---eeeeep...._ , the kind that's dragged rattling and terrified to the edge... What really happens is Kagami doesn't waste a second, pushes the shelf out of the way, drags Akashi into his room and wraps him in a blanket. Then he heaves them both out into the yard - by this point the neighbors have called the firefighters - and twenty minutes later the house is half gone but the fire is out.

(Hysterically Aomine recalls the aftermath. Like, really, _really_ hysterical - Kagami in an ugly tan blanket clutching Akashi, who's bruised and battered and barely conscious after the ambulance is done with him. They look like they're war refugees except Akashi's house kimono is somehow slit up to the hip, cheongsam China girl style to expose the whole length of one white leg, and Kagami's lips are getting blacker with every relieved kiss he busses over Akashi's cheeks. Kuroko's just the cherry on top after all of them sans Murasakibara are back at the house; his last few steps are rubbery stumbles that slide him home to a stop at Kagami's feet and split open his lip because he came in too fast. As he clutches one of Kagami's knees, he rubs blood all over Kagami's jeans.

Just what is the correct response to this situation? For the record, Aomine laughed.)

Again, the goddamn _degrees_. Aomine flounders for a long time with this one. Fifty percent _Fuck No_ vs. fifty percent _That Could Be Worse_? A hundred percent _Fuck No_. But it's not all negative, the mutual picking up the pieces sex was great. Wait, waking up to Kagami screaming. Seventy percent _Not Completely Shitty_ vs. a hundred percent _Fuck No_. His categories need work. His fucking math needs work.

His point stands, Kagami is a freak comet he didn't see coming, except Kuroko totally called it. He has this thing for asking for more, not only because he's a man, but because he was born to take what life had to throw. Once Aomine found that first _Not Shitty_ part he found more. Lots more. Now _he's_ cursing Akashi, Kuroko, the rest of the Miracles for having any claim on what he wants. He would beat them all away with a stick except - except -

(Hint: he said it already. _Not Completely Shitty_. The four-letter word. Kagami's sooty hand gentle on powder blue hair as Kuroko cried and Aomine laughed hysterically.)

Okay, so he can't beat Kuroko. But fighting isn't so bad. Fighting's red hot and yeah, sometimes he does pick his moments because he loves to see that glare, the beast coming alive, _you're such a fucking asshole_. Easy to say _you offering?_ But it kills him he never knows if Kagami really is that good, putting up the good fight before rolling over every time because that's what Aomine needs, or because Kagami is just weaker. Correction, he doesn't know which one kills him more.

(Instinct doesn't tell all. Instinct didn't tell him the danger of having a shadow until it was gone and Aomine was out of control, out of his fucking mind. Instinct doesn't help him reach out when Kagami rolls off the bed after they're done, puts on his clothes, and leaves without a word.

 _Fuck_ instinct.)

And it's also really annoying how the others butt in. Kagami's been in the background in a few of Kise's glossy spreads. Midorima has Sports Med 101 and Human Anatomy 2 with Kagami. Murasakibara is always holed in the brand new kitchen with him, eating off each other's spoons. Akashi doesn't have to stake out a corner of Kagami's life and sit on it until it's all his - Akashi just gives Kagami this _look_ , and Kagami goes, lays belly down (okay, not literally, just on his knees), and says _Yes, master? Three bags full? I'll be all you want - just don't make me walk the dog._

Aomine's marked his space but it's a lukewarm thing, inviting him out to 1-on-1. Kagami's just so _busy_. Of course, part of it is Aomine's fault - he hates chores - but man, is it hard to get Kagami to stay still for a second. He totally envies Kuroko, who gets pillow, heater, confidante and fuck buddy all in one convenient ~~soulmate~~ lover. It feels sometimes they're all wild dogs fighting for the best scraps.

(It feels sometimes he's turning into Haizaki. How's _that_ for hysterical.)

But more often than not if he's moody, like grumpy-moody and not destructive-picking fights-moody, Kagami will come find him if he has time. Will do the bro thing, hand over some sort of consoling food (something with chocolate, sure, world's most ubiquitous self-pity food, oh God he's turning into Momoi), and then listen to what he has to say. Nine times out of ten Aomine will find a legitimate thing to ~~lie~~ bitch about and Kagami will nod in all the right places, make all the right sympathetic sounds. The one time out will end in an epic shitfest, grumpy-moody was actually picking-fights-moody, Kagami will throw up his hands, storm down the stairs and Aomine will wonder where it all went wrong.

(Instinct was wrong.)

Today's kind of up in the air. Kuroko's birthday was last week, which means Kagami's dutifully making the rounds, making sure everyone's playing nice, making sure the others aren't neglecting each other, being the responsible Mommy - it's exactly this attitude of his that pisses Kagami off, Aomine's sure of it. But there is so much _Fuck No_ and not enough _Not Completely Shitty_ , starting with the ring.

_The ring._

He's brought it up a hundred times but nobody else bites. Sometimes Kise looks like he wants to and Akashi looks like he's swallowed a whole pineapple though his face never changes. But the clincher in everything wounded-kitty is always Kuroko, who is serene as a lily pond whenever Himuro's name comes up. Aomine stops short of saying _He never loved you_ , of course, because that's too close to _You were never loved_ which is what he suspected happened (Akashi 2.0, except with no dead mother and no expectations). Sometimes he wants to scream it though.

Kagami gets the worst face when he thinks of his brother. The hope that stabs a guy in the back, Aomine knows that feeling. The inevitable disappointment. The helpless love he can't deny. _It wasn't all bad._ Miserable yearning. Childish disheartenment, so empty and complete. And that goddamn ring that Kagami toys with sometime, piled with everyone in front of the couch with a movie or a game on. But oh so far away. 

Aomine thinks the ring means a lot of things that don't really matter right now. _Argh we should just kick him out!_ becomes _Argh I should just toss this out!_ Wishful thinking; Kagami's not over the past. It isn't clean like Aomine's.

"I wish you'd take that thing off," he says before he can stop it. Kagami's head comes up fast, sticks him in the gut with _You really want to do this? Right now?_ Aomine can feel the chocolate souffle curdle salt-sprinkled sluglike in his stomach, but he has to go on. Before this has the chance to blow like car meets helicopter, he adds, "I'm saying this seriously. You can start when it's just the two of us."

"How does me taking off the ring change anything."

"It pisses me off. It means you're thinking of some other guy when you're with me."

"I'm not thinking about him. Wearing it is just a habit I don't really want to break."

"Then you can take it off."

"I don't want to."

"All this means is that you'd pick him over Tetsu."

He's getting to that point, Aomine can feel it. "I'm not picking anyone over anything. Except basketball and food, at least that never talked back to me."

"Seems it did if playing basketball still shot you in the ass. Or from the sound of it, he _dumped_ you on your ass."

"You don't know _shit_ about Tatsuya -"

"You _are_ thinking about him."

Kagami was almost there. Almost there. Breathing hard, fists working as if he can't decide whether to twist-break or whether he still has the strength to let go. "And so what if I am? He's my brother. He's always going to be there, he's always going to be a part of me. If you're saying you don't want him you might as well say you don't want me."

That is _not_ what Aomine said. "No. I didn't say that."

"You might as well have!" There go the hands, up, up in the air. "You always bring up this stupid argument when the others are around. Like it matters any. It's just a ring, and I'm just wearing it. It doesn't get in the way, it doesn't change anything, and I don't know why you're so stuck on it."

It does change something. "It does. Just try." Kagami opens his mouth to spit _You're an asshole_ or _You think you say jump and people fucking jump_ or _This is none of your business_. He closes it when Aomine says, "Right now. For me. Just me."

Because there's something else that is fifty percent _Fuck No_ and fifty percent _Not Completely Shitty_. Or, if Aomine really wants to be honest to himself, it's neither. It's in the box where all the denials go until he looks left and right and finds they've all slithered out and are constricting him. _It used to be all Tetsu, but now it's all you._

Kagami opens his mouth again, but then makes a funny little furrow between his eyebrows and closes it. That's the killer. He _gets_ Aomine. The minute switch-turn of his attention and mood - it's like another Zone, one they enter when they're seeing each other, thinking about each other. Moving, synched, breath and hips hitching, feet twitching - they're not Akashi but they're seeing the near future together, all the paths they could take.

Kagami takes off the ring and shuts Aomine's bedroom door.

A thrill runs through him as Kagami shucks his clothes, the thrill of victory. Irritation's still evident in every move, but overlaying that is the revelation of each length of skin and muscle and bone. Kagami's body has always been something out of a dream, Aomine thinks. Kagami's body has always had inconceivable consequences, extreme results. It made him want to touch or die because of no touch.

It's only the glint of the ring that reminds him why. It gives him an ugly idea - he sweeps it off the nightstand into the corner behind a pile of dirty clothes. Kagami turns, outraged and ready to protest - Aomine sweeps him off his feet, slams him hard into the door. Kagami jerks at the feel of the cold doorknob. Their lips thinned away from bared teeth; it's only as an afterthought that tongues are involved, plunging, violating the sanctity of Kagami's anger to reform it into something fuck-dirty and so-wrong-it's-right. As always, Kagami freezes before he lets it take over.

 _Now there's more presence of mind for me_ , Aomine thinks as they hit desk, bookshelf, slip on some manga that's fallen down, which is okay because they crash on the bed anyway. Mostly. Aomine can't tell, he's too busy mauling Kagami's throat which doesn't have the stupid ring in the way for once. He sucks a line of hickeys and lovebites down to one nipple, then the other, then back up, a sloppy triangle that makes Kagami claw his back and arch catlike, which in turn makes Aomine laugh.

"What the fuck is so funny?" Kagami's got that gleam in his eyes that Aomine loves. Oh, oh, he _loves_ a challenge.

"You," Aomine snarls, full of dark promise. Kagami lunges back - Aomine isn't sure if it's to kiss him hard or rip out his throat _but both are okay, do your worst_ \- nails like fire and legs scrambling to get on top, on top - 

They teeter to the side. Aomine hits his head on the wall and hears Midorima on the other side knock back. Kagami throws him off the bed, _Oof!_ , foot catching him in the stomach and the violence is three thousand percent _Fuck Yes_ because Kagami no-holds-barred is like watching every great, gross, dirty, amazing thing coming straight at him. He feels so excited he's sick. He didn't think he could ever get this way, it totally tops everything in life so far. This urge to _have_ what's in front of him.

As if reading his thoughts, Kagami puts hand on his own cock and starts to jerk off. His eyes roll back, his mouth drops half open, he spread his thighs - and knees Aomine perilously close to the groin when he tries to maneuver back onto the bed, practically salivating. It doesn't stop him, he grabs the appendage and yanks it aside. _Mine_ , he thinks as his hand takes the place of Kagami's. He's tugging Kagami's cock as furiously as Kagami is fucking his fist, which is really hard. Zero to sixty in three-point-oh seconds.

This is just the beginning, just the prologue: they get each other off the first time the fastest they can, just to take the edge off. Then the real fun begins.

Rules are set and broken - can't fall off the bed, can't bang the wall too hard or else Midorima gets mad, no sweet kisses, no mention of Kuroko, _in fact why don't you just shut up?_ \- and Aomine sees it through a red haze. He can never decide if he's angry or lust-crazed or desperate in these moments, the whole world just klaxxons in his head. It comes down to whose hand is on the lube, whose rubbered already, who twists out of grip, whose hair-pulling is more hate and less love. That goddamn four-letter-word smolders when Aomine touches it, and then he flings it aside. Nothing and no one beats him when he's like this. _I've already won._

Kagami's eyes say otherwise.

They end up on the floor - cheap abrasive carpet but Kagami doesn't care, he reels Aomine in with a leg around his waist - for not the first time and probably not the last. Aomine has his hands glued to Kagami's ass and is squeezing; Kagami is writhing like an electrocuted snake. One of them blindly reaches for Aomine's pillow. The other reaches for a fallen blanket. Kagami rolls, pulls him down with a harsh grunt. Then Aomine's arms are up over his head and they're grinding.

His knees go watery. When he looks up Kagami looks just as stunned as he does. Sad that this is the first way they got off together and haven't really progressed. Sweaty thighs, the scratch of scrotum on sensitive flesh, the _plat-plat_ of Kagami weeping onto his stomach - they meet in the middle at the same time, sync levels cranked up, Aomine holding his hips steady as Kagami jogs them both with one hand, lips and teeth parting so tongue can stab mouth as far as it can go, surefire promise for later -

Orgasm hits at the same time, blanket snow-white and static, and Aomine weakly heaves-thrusts until Kagami lets go. They're both messed-up but Aomine doesn't have the patience to clean them off right now, this isn't _Not Completely Shitty_ hour.

(If not, when?)

This is Round Three. He slides his fingers back into Kagami's ass (he bucks, startled for a moment, but then decides it's too much to fight), decides it isn't enough, and gets down on his elbows. Kagami gives a muted protest when he's rolled onto his stomach and prodded wide, a protest that turns into a whine when Aomine rims him. Rims him until his nerves are singing and Kagami's hard again, cock filling and flushing, jabbing into the pillow and blanket underneath. Aomine barely remembers to rubber up until -

\- _yes oh yes bliss_ (it used to be all Tetsu, but now it's all you) _never let go mine mine Fuck No mine_ -

It's like a whole chorus as Kagami cries out, lyrical except it's wordless. His limbs pick up the cry. He doesn't go out without a fight either - he pushes back, strong and steady, he's always so ready to take him on, take on the whole fucking world, and Aomine would admire it more if he wasn't so crushed complete sync didn't mean Kagami could just pluck the four-letter-word out of his brain from all the other four-letter-words floating around.

He comes that way, alone in his head with his instincts yammering at him to _hit that spot again_ and _fuck him, fuck him hard see how he likes it_. Kagami gives this big inhale when he feels the condom swell, then the two of them exhale together. Aomine likes the three seconds right after the act the best. Kagami's skin is a little hot, like it is right after they've played for a bit, but this bonelessness is all bedroom.

It's just enough time to blink once slowly, lashes lazy as he struggles to breathe. Then Kagami starts to wiggle so Aomine slides out and everything turns nasty: the feel of the rubber, sweat, drying come, the pinches and tears they've inflicted on each other. Aomine really isn't sure who walked away this time as champ, though, he's pretty sure this is the angriest sex he's ever had, if his own reflection in the mirror is any indication.

The clawing fingernails on his back and shoulders, he's had. Hickeys and bites, his own recovering pupils that were lust-blown a second ago, those are familiar. He touches a new one that's on his neck, though, right at the bend. He remembers in the middle of jacking them both off, the prick of teeth, his whole body down from head to toe melting, fading, blistering from the sudden onslaught of teeth.

Kagami's caught him looking. "Sorry." He ducks his head, embarrassed. But he really isn't. There's this defiant look in his eye. 

"I'm not," Aomine chuckles. "Here I was thinking you without that thing meant more for me, more for us. Means you can think without him." This is more than he's ever said post-coital and tender all over, especially where Kagami's new mark flares like it's started to bleed again. It's dangerous ground. "But I guess it's a little different. It means I'm a little more yours too."

Kagami stares at him, inscrutable in that Kuroko way, before putting on the rest of his clothes. There's no hiding the dirty towel he's borrowed or his fading look of just-had-great-sex, but otherwise he looks the same as when he walked in. Except -

\- instead of putting on the ring, it gets pocketed for the moment. Instead of leaving without a word, he wipes Aomine off as much as he can see, then gives him a closemouthed kiss that is too short for its brief sizzle of sweetness, like sudden lights going on inside of Aomine's veins and bones, then blinking off. Having survived that kind of otherworldly sensation, Aomine has the weirdest urge to say thanks.

"You'd better do your laundry before you don't have any clothes to wear," Kagami says as a way of closing. Aomine hears _Okay so you're not a total dick/What the fuck was that_ loud and clear.

If only he knew. Or rather, he _does_ know that his brain's a mess and this is the result.

"Right on it, Mom."

Either Kagami's had manners pounded into him as a kid or jabbed into his gut after he met Kuroko, because he remembers to close the door quietly. Which then gives Aomine the wonderful opportunity to flop back on the carpet, shoot up because it's disgustingly sweaty, crunchy and itchy, and then crawl over to the bed. Flopping onto it is so satisfying he does it a couple times.

 _Fuck_ , he thinks of the last thing Kagami did, putting away the ring and closing his eyes as he kissed like he kissed Kuroko. He isn't sure if it's the word _fuck_ or the memory that makes his dick twitch a little.

 _Fuck the laundry_ , he amends. Really. Kagami's left him with the carpet, the pillow, towels, and the blanket to wash. He knows he makes it up in other ways, but... 

"Fuck this shit," he grumbles, and flops back down to wait for dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was like, ten furiosity references in there. I'm not obsessed, I swear. Also, Die Hard.


	4. place your bets and alibis (the best lies are mostly truth)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sure, Midorima can be fourteen percent of socially awkward, but that doesn't mean he doesn't know how to give back when he's been given. The late night and fatigue makes things difficult for both him and Kagami, but not enough to hide what he always feels: the numbers, the damn formulas, rising like exhaled breath on snowy mornings from next to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, so I have no idea if this makes sense. Somehow I was tired and came up with this. Midorima is - at least in my headcanon - more abstract, more theoretical. If I had to name one person who could dissociate physical from mental during sex, I would probably say Midorima because I think he compartimentalizes up the wazoo. Even with that fundamental difference in the way they think, I still think Midorima and Kagami's determination/willpower is somehow very similar. Also, my headcanon says Midorima is a really smart person who remembers all sorts of things in split seconds even when he's concentrating very hard on something.
> 
> (Also, I get really random and really repetitive in here. I am very sorry. It's part of why the set-up is the way it is - a ready excuse. But unforgivable nonetheless.)

(A mother has two children. The mother is currently thirty-five years old. Her children are six and eight. How many years after will it be until the mother's age equals her children's ages added together?)

Tokyo is poised on the brink of _icy_ and _inhumanly cold_. _Nitroglycerin is a potent vasodilator used in heart conditions and has a freezing point of five to ten degrees Celsius._ The trains have stopped running so he has some ways to go, blustering up the hill as fast as he can. At least he's dressed for the season with today's lucky item on his head, mercifully normal on a test day: a knitted hat. He's the only one walking on the street that would be blinking with cheesy Christmas decorations, if he had been passing by a bit earlier. He's used to this routine by now.

He's also having trouble keeping awake because of the late - early? - hour. He can't even tell these things straight and he regularly goes around calling denizens of the house _ahou_ and _baka_. Maybe he's the fool, since he's currently freezing his ass off (he blames this turn of phrase on Takao, who is a stubborn tick who refused to be shaken off when Midorima bluntly told him he was following his father's footsteps into the medical field, and that Takao had less than a snowball's chance in hell at following him there). That's why he's reciting logic problems in his head, just to prove he knows something.

(In a particular sharehouse, a sad twenty-eight percent of the renters are rational beings. Among that number, fifty percent tested positive for socially awkward. What percentage is redeemable?)

 _Below zero._ Or below thirty-two degrees Fahrenheit and two hundred seventy-three degrees Kelvin. His teeth are starting to chatter but he can see the top of the hill. A lone car passes and he squints from the reflection from his glasses. For a moment he imagines his vision tilting, listing to the side - but it's just because the headlamps turn the corner out of sight.

At the door he doesn't bother like he usually does, because he knows there isn't anybody else in the house, just leaves his shoes where he steps out of them, a symbol of disobedience against the manners that have been beaten into him since he was a child. Similarly, the coat is the next to go, thrown over the chair next to the entranceway -

\- he is wrong and there _is_ someone under the kotatsu, face pillowed on his arms. Three star-shaped tangerine rinds are scattered over the table in the mocking shape of a halo. He is dressed in a ratty, threadbare ski coat that is too large for him - Murasakibara's old one, by the color.

(Three hundred grams of four percent salt water is mixed with two hundred grams of nine percent salt water. What percentage is the result?)

Midorima sets down his bag with a little more care. The late night - morning? - is playing with his senses; he hesitates upon thinking of going back and tucking his shoes neatly onto the shoe rack. In the end he can't be bothered.

"Kagami?" he calls. "Kuroko? Aomine?" _They say if you find one cockroach, there's a hundred more running around the house somewhere._ No one answers. The living room feels like the heater has been running for hours; his cheeks are dry and prickly. His blood pulses sullenly, then with better circulation, skipping arrhythmic when his eyes skitter over the living room again.

The music from the speaker on the table - foreign rock played at a low volume - takes that moment to hush and give way to a rhythm Midorima has only known once, the night they spent piled in a hotel bed together. Kagami's nose is half-squashed, which is why he gives a little wheezy snore when he inhales. 

(A dependent non-player character, or DNPC, is a character controlled by the game master but for which the playable character is responsible in some way, and who may be put in danger by the player's choices.)

He strips as he goes: socks, gloves, hat, scarf, sweater, shirt, pants, rebelliously scattering them Hansel-and-Gretel style. Midorima is convinced there isn't a kotatsu sold anywhere in Japan that can fit seven basketball players, five of which tower over most of the populace, but since it's only Kagami it's easy to slip in beside him. He's even warmer because there's a stand-alone heater on full blast next to him. Midorima has a split second of regret for disturbing him before his eyes crack open and he reaches out sleepily.

He never gets to see this. Kagami is always the one who shakes him by the shoulder before his alarm goes off. _Regular running or jogging, both forms of aerobic exercise, builds strong bones, improves cardiovascular fitness, and helps maintain a healthy weight._ He's thought about pulling Kagami into bed with him a lot of times instead of letting Kagami prep for breakfast, but. There's always been something methodical and meditative about the fog in the mornings with the low murmur of violins in his headphones. Now that he has Kagami padding alongside him, breath coming out in fluffy white puffs, he's even more loathe to give up the opportunity to come awake slowly during roadwork, no matter how many times Aomine claims _Such a shame, since you two are all alone._

Kagami hands him an orange. His nose twitches at the bite of citrus in the air, just like Midorima knew it would. "You're back," he says, marginally less lethargic. "Where've you been? That med final of yours was over hours ago."

"I stayed behind to talk to the assistants." _And got so caught up I forgot dinner._ "And then the career counselor wanted to meet because I've been putting her off. She wanted to meet before she left for vacation."

"You need an alert on your phone, man. No matter how much you like your major, you're gonna die if you don't catch a nap here and there." Of course Kagami doesn't miss how quickly Midorima wolfs down the orange and grabs another one. Evidently he really is taking everything he learned in Nutrition 101 seriously, because he carefully shuffles out from the floofy kotatsu cover, reappearing two minutes and a microwave beep later with a made-up plate in hand. It's hayashi rice, which Midorima really doesn't care for, except _hunger is the best spice_ and _beggars can't be choosers_ means he only looks down in shock when his spoon hits an empty plate. Traitorously Midorima's stomach gurgles, pleased.

Even Kagami can't miss that. He smirks, but it's more exhausted than mocking and makes Midorima's heart lurch sideways into his lungs. "There's more if you like. You missed dinner, after all."

He considers it. He considers reaching out to catch a hold of Kagami's sweatpants at the knee. But this timing would be too needy (too Kise) or too dependent (Kuroko). Midorima is neither, so he keeps his hands to himself.

"You waited for me."

Kagami snorts. "Well, yeah. Last one with a final and of course you were out all night studying after hours, as usual. Here I was thinking you'd been attacked by a mad ax murderer or something. It's only because of that GPS function on the phone I didn't freak out and call you in the middle of...whatever important stuff you were doing."

He knows this one from Takao's frequent and undesirable attempts at teaching him how to play video games. "Axes are an unpopular weapon."

Evidently Kagami didn't get the same memo, because he looks at Midorima weirdly. "What's that got to do with anything? Anyways, give me the plate. I'll get you some more."

He rationalizes communication between them is akin to bats at sunset, swooping successfully to catch bugs but never colliding. He and Kagami have a near-catastrophic history of near-misses. 

In the end he cannot deny his needs, no matter how poser he might seem. Midorima relinquishes the plate and grabs Kagami's wrist when he reaches out to take it. He doesn't let go of that; a different hunger rises relentless, licking wide jagged chops. 

"Leave it," he says. The clock ticks in the background with a soaring strain of ugly electric guitar. The English would grate on his ears, except Kagami's got it at just the volume where it toes the line at _barely annoying_. "Leave it and come here."

(Patient A is experiencing acute sexual frustration. At the beginning of studying for his finals, he was one-third frustrated, and by the middle of studying he was three-fifths that. At this rate of accumulation, what is his total level of sexual frustration by the end of finals?)

Ridiculous. He pushes logic away as Kagami slowly kneels, a curious look on his face. Snoopy squirrel, nosy tiger, puzzled canine. Ridiculous. Kagami is unbearably, irresistibly present and human.

Midorima thinks the hideous - criminally so? - hour is possibly messing with his mind. He thinks he hears Takao's bark of laughter, but Takao finished three days ago and sent him a text that said _7:13 AM, Takao >> Don't set the grading curve too high or your classmates are gonna hate you, and the tiger's not in this class so he can't protect your ass with his thug one_, in which he replied _7:15 AM, me >> Mind your own business and stop talking about my ass_.

He wonders if what Takao says is real, that _Shin-chan's lovely, he just doesn't show it often_ and _There's a reason I can never get enough of you_ isn't a lie. He thinks he's probably safe in this case because while Kagami's well-versed in receiving lies, he's crap at making them up. That's probably why he's silent. Even so, his honest concern smells like freshly steamed rice and sweat as he pauses with his nose almost touching the bridge of Midorima's glasses, and leans in.

He tastes like oranges. He shakes like a bottle of rattled spice, but after a minute he settles down. Midorima reflects he isn't the only being affected by what Takao calls _ass o'clock in the morning dammit Shin-chan_ , and deepens the kiss. Kagami knees thud mutely against the sofa as he slides in, shedding the ski jacket in one go - everything Murasakibara owns makes unhealthy fried foodstuffs come to mind - lips, tongue, cheek, jaw going everywhere, nuzzling, scent-marking, dropping down to Midorima's neck. They pause to strip. Kagami mouths his shoulder - _a cheetah did this to an antelope in a nature documentary and its spine snapped in that predatory embrace_ \- once before he simply tucks his chin over it and grinds down.

His eyelids are drooping fast, though. "Don't you dare fall asleep on me," Midorima warns severely. "You already had a nap, for hours even. Your fatigue is nothing compared to mine, since I've been up for two days straight."

"And that's why you're a freak even without that horoscope mumbo-jumbo," Kagami mutters. Midorima has a split second where he considers dumping the stupid Bakagami on his butt and visiting Takao at his parent's house tomorrow instead, but test burnout has eroded his patience. His fingers stroke them together though Kagami's thrusts are stuttering and clumsy. Messily he pants into the crook of Midorima's neck. And messily he drools on both ends, dribbling drunk, a line of white spittle between Midorima first and second fingers when he looks down. It's an arresting sight. Kagami twitches irregularly, unsymmetrically. Math, logic, perfect numbers and equations are a chorus of upsets as the kotatsu bounces with a reluctant bang where Midorima rejects it with a well-placed kick. Kagami's insufferable lack of technique and over-brazenness Midorima punishes with precise bruises of his own, teeth digging into clavicle that has slowly lost its sun-kissed flavor as the winter yawns wide. Midorima yawns too and it's definitely contagious, because Kagami stifles a grunt of tiredness against the sofa.

And then his arms come up to box Midorima in, solid like tall trees and iron woks and a partnership they don't have, can't even begin to bridge. But in the wee hours apparently he's inclined to pretend they're devoted lovers, because his breath whistles things that might be words against Midorima's ear and his body presses defiant, insistent weight against Midorima's stomach. He knows what Kagami sees - a body gone somewhat to seed since he stopped playing. Briefly heartburn strikes at the memory of the long arc between him and the basket, the swish of victory -

\- on cue, Kagami gives a low groan. _And instead I'm stuck with this crude form of pleasure._ Upon closer inspection, Kagami probably doesn't see anything, he's too busy rutting like a dog in heat. At this rate he's going to finish first, not that Midorima cares because it means he gets to lay on the scorn afterwards (if he can stay awake) and demand twice the repayment since Kagami usually gets his dumb rocks off with the irrational seventy-two percent of the house -

Kagami's kisses blister and crumple, peeling back skin to expose muscle and nerve. Teeth yank at lip and tongue. Midorima can't help but dive past physical stimulus with a counterrattack of his own that blooms fire-flowers in his gut. This is what Kagami does to him, turn his brain stupid by osmosis that fogs his glasses before they're knocked off. The room descends into blurs of color and sensation. 

A shoulder bumps his jaw. An elbow jabs his arm. Fingers skate over the back of his skull. He answers each of these with exactly executed moves of his own. _In view of the inevitable disappointments, exploitations, and rejections involved in human relationships, one might wonder how anyone could reach adulthood without being seriously malajusted._ There is always something so determined in Kagami when his lips pull back from his teeth in a snarl and he arches parabolic. From somewhere, nowhere, Midorima's dizzy in the head and can't see, there comes the sound of a bottlecap opening and the crinkle of foil. _The sexual impulse, however, is sufficiently strong and persistent and repeated sexual activity gradually erodes the inhibitions and any sense of guilt or shame._

(In twenty-one years. Insufficient information. Does it matter? _Tears are tears._ )

He isn't like Aomine, he isn't so single-minded as to lose track of what the ring means. It adds an acrid tang of cheap metal to Kagami's taste but Midorima's so tired his mouth misses and catches the chain twice. He doesn't mind. He knows this is part of who Kagami is.

"Are you going to do what you always do?"

Midorima considers the question and his fingers running slick from the lubricant and ejaculate. He can see them shine even without his glasses. _Teleology refers to the doctrine that final causes exist. Is that the same for human existence?_ Aomine would undoubtedly say something cutting if he knew Midorima was concentrating more on the pulse lub-dubbing in Kagami's neck rather than what was going on below. But the way Kagami squeezes on the pull-out is familiar, while the arms smothering him are not. They have never done it in this position before, and his aching arm reaching up and under reminds him why. Really, this is far too intimate, but Midorima tells himself he is too tired, too much in need.

_Is that all you have to give? Lies of omission?_

Kagami balks when he drills the digits deep, sucking in an inelegant "Gaahh" noise with his face against the side of Midorima's head, exhaling sandpaper and scratchy wool. This close he smells faintly of curry. Everyone in this house is a sore loser so Kagami tries to grit his teeth and ride it out - and fails. Midorima knows the rhythm to make him whine, make him bleed alternating, unwilling syllables of threat and encouragement. They are locked ear-to-ear, chin-to-shoulder. The black night spins lazily overhead, a circle of lamplight on the ceiling as he compares the things necessary in life and replaces guitars with pianos and violins.

In the crescendo he reflects he never knows if Kagami always comes first because he's just that impatient, or because he knows Midorima likes to watch. Spiraling up to the stars, the gorge of his exposed throat, the death-grip he has around Midorima's neck that sends white static across his vision though he's not the one blowing up into a million pieces... Everything faintly pulses hurt when Kagami keens a note too high for humans to catch, overheated like a burnt egg on a melting sidewalk, falling, crumpling - 

Midorima is ready with the rubber on already so the moment Kagami sinks down heavily he takes advantage, because it is no advantage at all, freely given. It is not recommended they speak to each other. All he can do is imagine Kagami and Kuroko's simple enjoyment between the beats of the speaker fallen and muffled in fabric. The same plain realizations that washed clean all the lines, castles, and barriers Midorima had made on pride's shores.

_I cannot deny I care that you care._

He tells himself it is the late hour that makes him hug back tentatively. Or rather, it isn't a hug. It is just to keep Kagami steady as he rocks, that's all. Rocking and circling with that solemn, stunned look on his face. He splutters things with his tongue thick in his mouth, smears _fast, deep, yes_ next to _please, oh_. _Fool_ , Midorima thinks. _Who are you to trust me. Just who do you think you are. You don't need me. I could hurt you._

(Patient A is experiencing one hundred percent orgasm denial which is about to turn into one hundred percent sexual gratification.)

But he can't stop his body that needs, or Kagami's body that gives. The idiot doesn't know any better. And...when he's like this, straining for the top, straining for Midorima alone, it makes crazy thoughts come to his head. That some of those jogging mornings could actually become make-out mornings. That he could covet the ticking cadence of Kagami's sleep-drawn breaths and not feel like an intruder in someone else's house.

That a Marina Trench-sized disparity in what they say means nothing next to when they _do_ connect and Midorima is surrounded by all Kagami is, Kagami does.

This bewildering mix of flavors - orange, curry, rice, ice, saliva - nudges him potently and cleanly over the edge. A little hitch of breath in his ear tells him Kagami feels it - he always feels _too much_ \- and rides out the little waves and snaps of hips. Midorima can count his heart rate and the exponentially decreasing number of thrusts. Midorima can also usually state the main reasons for Alzheimers, but it feels like he's gone senile early.

What was he thinking? Kagami as his. Kagami as _his_. Vengeful heartburn; he dumps Kagami to the side where he huffs and lies there like a dead log. Midorima smacks his own chest worriedly. Dumb thing, just like Kagami, always refuses to listen. It's just mutual tit-for-tat. Nothing left save the echo of disbelief now that they're done.

"We need to sleep," Midorima informs Kagami, but the other has dragged himself upright to clean up and pull the kotatsu back in place. He has probably reached a zombie-like stage of wakefulness. Midorima can sympathize because he is there too.

It isn't fair to the others because if they really, truly gave into that trust, it has the potential to obliterate all of their other human relationships they have.

(Find the equilibrium between feeling A, mocking disinterest, and B, the inability to look away. What do you get? C, a line of volcanos and valleys, fluctuations that move roughly upward at a slow but steady angle that far exceeds original speculation.)

They tiptoe the line and say nothing real.

His hands itch since Kagami is cleaning up _again_ and throws Murasakibara's coat at his stupid Bakagami face. Those fried snacks permeate the goose down too much. But Kagami's been wearing this one lately, so there's also cinnamon and capisum. 

How typical it is that annoyance and endearment sting and roll when it comes to Kagami's brutish helpfulness, a hiveful of confused bees that poke holes in Midorima's lungs so he temporarily can't speak. But a satisfied appetite and release makes him mellow. There really isn't an impediment to staying under the kotatsu for a night. Midorima has done it before. They lay down a crude set of chopsticks. As the lamp clicks off, his skin feels like it is becoming one with the fuzzy plush carpet. Fatigue washes overhead, the roar of an unrelenting tide. 

At a distance of ten centimeters, he cannot see Kagami's face.

"Stay," Kagami says, one word, all he allows himself. And Midorima realizes he doesn't have to see to _feel_ what pulls him forward. Because this is his space. Kagami let him claim it. Midorima's answer is wordless and automatic, groping for the kotatsu cover and fighting the exhaustion that swamps his senses -

Their fingers barely touch but Midorima's have always been oversensitive from being taped since he was young, and the contact forks lightning from hand to shoulder to chest to groin. _Ten trillion synapses in the brain._ How many were devoted to feeling, straining for Kagami in that moment? It feels like all of them are being sucked within.

"I am sleeping in tomorrow." He waits but - of course there is no answer. Just the thrum of breath that stirs the nerves in his wrist. 

The late night and company really have rotted his brain, if it takes him a moment to realize he has no further reason to be awake. After all, the house's hearthfire is just glowering, slumbering coals now. This center, this heart Kuroko tossed in their midst. And to think they had been so doubtful of change in the beginning.

All the logic in the world can't answer why Midorima shifts in a little more, instinctively disliking the heater and the furnace that is Kagami's body. He doesn't mind the cold, or else he would have left school before the last train. Irritation ticks at his senses; this is why he doesn't have an audible clock in his room. The risks of waking awkwardly positioned are disproportionately high compared to every other option. Yet Kagami so easily bats these sensible planets out of orbit and lets irrationality take its place.

(Every repeated stimulus, given prolonged exposure, evolves in some way.)

He thinks Kagami is already dead to the world until he breathes, "Shin." Then and only then is Midorima reassured of reality when Kagami's breath, Kagami's pulse throbs reassuringly against his palm.

(He'll deny until his dying breath, but Midorima is fine with being a little crazy.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Facts and logic questions are taken from a variety of sources, including SPI practice books, [webmd](http://www.webmd.com/sex-relationships/features/sexual-response-cycle), [nitroglycerin @ wiki](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nitroglycerin), [parts of the brain](http://www.alz.org/braintour/3_main_parts.asp), [non-playable character @ wiki](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Non-player_character), [benefits of running](http://www.betterhealth.vic.gov.au/bhcv2/bhcarticles.nsf/pages/Running_and_jogging). Wow. That was a lot of random sources.
> 
> And why do I always end my fics with one-liners. It makes me sound like a bad pickup artist.


	5. time and patience (is the sweetest spice)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's fact that Murasakibara knows Kagami best. Because he watches, and he listens, and he hoards crumbs like squirrels hoard acorns for winter. And oh, he really likes what he tastes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to try multiple times to get this chapter out to a point where I'm satisfied, and I'm still not 100% content with it, but here we are. Sometimes it feels like Murasakibara is the easiest headspace to slip into, and other times when I'm thinking too hard or have too many other things, he's simply impossible to pin down.
> 
> (Also, I'm really, really sorry for anyone who waited for this. My sincere and humble apologies.)

There are a multitude of things Murasakibara likes, but one thing that can be said about him, he is very particular what they are exactly. They all have to give him the same trembling, weak-kneed feeling he gets the first time he bites into a new flavor, and the seasonings burst on his tongue. Firework explosions of hot-rod barbecue sauce. Swimming cheese-cream mayonnaise and mentaiko. Refined sea salt and crisp bits of grilled nori. 

Even as the old flavors remain staples, he never gets tired of the thrill of discovery.

Today it is Kagami's wrists. This came about because Kagami cannot help the deliciousness of his fingers. So the rest of him must be tasty too. In the middle of cooking sometimes Murasakibara steals those appendages from whatever they're clenched around - spatula, ladle, knife, cooking chopsticks - and just licks and licks. Garlicky; gingery; dashi; Mediterranean spice; cayenne; and the faint trace of earth. But always solid as sunwarmed stone and strong, stronger than anyone his size has right to be. For Heaven's sakes, he barely comes up to Murasakibara's chin. He could crush him without trying, bend him - 

\- bend him like he's doing now, spooning on the couch. Two parallel, crooked green beans. Kagami's wrist tastes like skin, of course it does. It is limp where Murasakibara holds it aloft. And the fingers twitch when he nibbles the pulse-beat, clenching as Kagami's spine threatens to unwind.

Murasakibara constricts him there with his two arms and two legs, wrapped octopus-like so neither of them can move. Kagami grunts, bulges with effort, but he can't get loose with his wrists trapped.

Finally he gives up. "Murasa'b'ra?" he trips clumsily over the name.

"Mm." He swipes his tongue over the wrist for the last time before letting go. It tastes a little of sweat and maybe dish detergent. It should be nasty but Murasakibara likes it. He knows because of the butterfly feeling.

He also likes the smell of sleep.

Of just waking up from it, when things are still blurred on the edges and reactions are just as they are, more pure and honest. Kagami is no different. He melts again into the fit of Murasakibara's front, eyelids drooping as Murasakibara's palm flattens and crawls up the front of Kagami's abs. He smooths back down, leaving soporific ripples in his wake. Kagami shivers in his hold and slumps from eyelash to toenail.

Murasakibara sucks his favorite place so far - Kagami's neck - nipping down his shoulder. The sleepy smell grows stronger as Kagami's mouth falls open a little. He tries to say something, maybe Murasakibara's name again, but it is only an absent afterthought of sound that Murasakibara registers in the back of his mouth. His tongue blocks the rest; Kagami grunts at being so interrupted, but tries his best as always to return the favor. His tongue twines back, inviting, pulling Murasakibara in. The kiss is sloppy and slick and makes Murasakibara hot, makes the butterflies swirl in dizzying patterns. He wants to push Kagami down, so he does.

He likes the color on Kagami's lips too. Like freshly washed strawberries, or the shine of tangy sauce on piping hot pork cutlet. He sucks at it until Kagami starts to struggle in that clumsy way of his, ineffectual and so annoying on the court. But cute right now as he tries to catch his breath, hands pushing at Murasakibara's shoulders but isn't that a laugh, a single man trying to budge a monolith by himself. Murasakibara presses him into the cushions, crushing, hip-to-hip, and now Kagami twists, squirms, sleep-smell sharpening to something far more awake and exciting.

"Get off me," Kagami's glare spits chips of bloody ice.

Murasakibara almost lifts one hand to tap at his mouth, before he remembers he shouldn't move, or Kagami might get free. So he simply says he what he meant to anyway: "Hmm, no."

"It's time for me to start cooking -"

"It's not Kaga-chin's turn today. I checked." Well, it isn't anymore. Murasakibara might have had to convince Akashi to let him loom ominously over Kise for a minute before the harrassed blond caved, but it would be worth it.

"Even so -" He tries to buck. It only makes them grind together some more. That probably isn't his intention, but Murasakibara will take what he can. He grinds back. "Dammit -"

Murasakibara recognizes the English word from his time dating Kagami's older brother. "Kaga-chin, no swearing. I thought your mom had that swear jar thing or whatever."

"For the last time, Alex isn't my mom!"

Murasakibara cocks his head. "Oh? I guess I misunderstood." Kagami goes a bit stiff then, inwardly replaying past conversations, and probably wondering about his brother at the same time. He looks like Himuro when he's like this. He has the same set on his mouth, the same blank-faced suspicion. 

See, that's the one thing Murasakibara can say about himself. That he knows Kagami better than anybody else in the house except for Kagami himself. Even more than Kuroko. That's because he listened when Himuro talked, and now he listens when the two of them don't talk. In the silence there are all kinds of invisible fish to be scooped up, verbal diahrrea stifled, exclamations choked upon. Love smothered under the weight and pressure of assumptions and misconceptions and hopeless wishes.

He knows what is right. He knows the place Kagami has, it's clear as daylight to him. He once belonged to Himuro, sure, but now he belongs to Murasakibara. In the way shadows move in tandem with bodies, Murasakibara feels him through the kinship of discovery. And skinship. He does that now, drinking him in with his hands, bigger than anyone else's. He splays one in a pointed flower over Kagami's heart, pushing hard to feel muscle and bone imprinted against his palm. Kagami's breath comes out harsh and fast, almost pained, hissing as Murasakibara's other hand tightens around the wrists he still has captive, huffing when Murasakibara's teeth catch his lip. He twists away. He always fights, it's the only thing he knows how to do correctly.

Kagami does it with all his strength, because he can't do things by halves. He doesn't expect the same from others, but he's always grateful, so grateful, when they reciprocate. Which is why Murasakibara pins him there and doesn't budge, doesn't allow any hint of escape. It is his way of showing he's stronger than Kagami, strong enough to hold the whole roof of this house over their heads if he needs to.

But now it's time to make him make other noises.

He can't seem to settle as Murasakibara exposes him, the long line of his sex. Considers him before taking him in. Instantly flavor explodes, husky and low and bitter with eagerness, but that isn't what Murasakibara is looking for. It's the rattling inhale Kagami allows himself, sitting up halfway to see Murasakibara better. His hands clutch at straws of air, claw raking ruts into the sofa as all the breath leaves him on the retreat of Murasakibara's mouth. 

Murasakibara watches him calmly. At this angle, the view of Kagami's cheeks is cut off on one side by the proud jut of his cock. Murasakibara chases the musky taste around and around his mouth and waits. He is rewarded for it.

"Why'd you stop?" Kagami pants raggedly. It's true this isn't how this usually goes. Usually Murasakibara would be in him by now.

"I wanna ask Kaga-chin something."

Kagami blinks, nonplussed. It's also true that Murasakibara never asks questions; why talk when they can both read the recipe, and both of them know what to do? Words don't matter when the sip off each other's spoons and a nod suffices.

"What did you dream that night?"

Kagami has no idea what he's talking about. His eyebrows fork into a stormy V. "What?"

"The night of the fire. I was there, remember? You were looking for someone. And you didn't find them."

It was the night he found he liked the smell of Kagami sleeping. When he sleeps, _really_ sleeps, his breaths are loud and all of him wilts into the sheets like the snake has left the snakeskin. When he's really tired, he snores. But that night he shook and shook, head twisting back and forth as he clutched Akashi to his chest, until Murasakibara enveloped as much of the two of them as he could with his spider-long arms, his orangutan legs.

This is Himuro's legacy. _I used to cradle his back from behind._ Now Kagami is too big, now they are both too old. Now Himuro is too jaded to try again. And now Kagami has moved on.

Murasakibara knows Kagami better than anyone. "It's okay if it was Muro-chin," he adds.

Kagami is quiet, the kind of quiet that is resigned. Because Kagami knows when he's been found out. Kagami knows when he's been beat. He thinks he knows so much about himself, having so much time alone to think about it, but it is still less than Murasakibara knows. 

_The problem with Taiga is that he is too good._

He lets out a kind of quiet shudder as Murasakibara goes back to work on him. The mood is strange now, awkward with Himuro's name dangling between them. They are never going to fit perfectly as long as that bubble floats in the air, but Murasakibara is patient. After all, even if the last seasonal flavor wasn't up to par, all he has to do was wait for the next season to roll around. And then there will be plenty of newer, better things to try. 

Murasakibara has all the time in the world to savor salt-bitter, the moistness that rises from Kagami's thighs. The half-agony, half-blissful buck of his hips as the first fingers breach him, scissor him open. Even when he is past ready Murasakibara keeps boring deep, riding out each swell of Kagami's hips with a stutter of his own against the sofa. The friction is delicious and oh-so-not enough. But Murasakibara is patient and waits for the right time to strike.

Kagami starts to beg. "Goddammit, if y - you keep - _fuck_ -"

Murasakibara doesn't listen. He has no intention of giving into the whims of people who are less than he is. And Kagami is so small and so cute half-curled up as he comes, his voice the closest to a whimper than Murasakibara has ever heard it. He's bent and warped so badly all from Murasakibara's handiwork, and it's beautiful to see. Practically a feast with his red face, the waves of exhaustion, the rough drag of his exhale, the loosening twine of his fingers in the sofa covers. Satiation mists off of him. Murasakibara has no problem holding him down the way they both like it, except Kagami doesn't struggle, cranberry-watery eyes studying Murasakibara through half-lids as his spine, his feet, his ass are shaped into position.

Suddenly, as Murasakibara finishes rolling the rubber and applying lubricant, he says clearly, "You're wrong."

And then he blows Murasakibara's mind the way words never have before. "I dreamt of you. In the house. I kept looking - I knew I'd saved Akashi. But I just couldn't remember about you, about where you were. And so I - I went back for you and I couldn't find you."

In his mind Murasakibara can see the flicker-lick of flames, the choke-ash of charred mementos from seven lives, and the sour taste of desperation. In the next moment it is just the two of them in the sofa staring at each other, but he will never forget the way Kagami's words pang around his skull, refracting and redoubling into shining slivers of glass rain.

He doesn't verbally reply, he can only show. He bolts Kagami down so he can't move a centimeter, his hands vice-like bands of skin-steel, until he is so sure he will never let go, he physically cannot allow himself to. And Kagami fights like he means to, except he doesn't really want to win. Kissing is messy and thorough, running through a shopping list of clacking teeth and bumping noses and hot, hot eddies of breath that inject oxygen onto the lighted match. Still Murasakibara persists in swallowing his face whole, wants to just take all of Kagami and gulp him down and let him live in his stomach tucked away forever where no one else can see, no one else can touch. Because he knows Kagami would have gone back for him. Brave, stupid Bakagami. So sweet as he writhes, caught as a butterfly, so giving of all of himself. 

Because Kagami woke shivering and shaking and _he admits he needs me_.

Kagami cries at the end of a half-turn and Murasakibara's pull-out, body stretched to its limits. But he doesn't let go either. Murasakibara lets him touch his knee, and his grip is punishing. The bite of his nails leaves scores of acid in the back of Murasakibara's throat. He can barely register Kagami is crying through his gasps and gasping through the thrusts, ragged and painful, but not in the bloodstained kind of way. It is simply what happens when the butterflies turn into a blank sheet in Murasakibara's mind, and the pleasure of being so connected rewrites all the assumptions, all the history, and leaves Kagami once again clean and whole.

His big hands have left bruises on Kagami's wrists that Kagami rubs absently. He's starting to get sleep-heavy again without an ounce of shame for how he looks with his junk still hanging out. Murasakibara can understand. He doesn't want to move either, and to hell with propriety, when it feels like all there is in the world is him and the warm body in his arms.

"Kaga-chin," he murmurs, and Kagami again repeats what is probably Murasakibara's name back to him. As clumsy and coarse-ground as it is, Murasakibara likes it. 

They're not perfect yet, and they might never be. But Murasakibara reminds himself they're both enjoying stirring the pot together. And there's always time for them to add new elements.

He can wait, if it's with Kagami.


	6. snip and grow (a centimeter straighter, a second older)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It took three watchings of Last Game to get me out of my funk and back in the game. I still feel helluva rusty - but I sure hope this trend continues. Maybe some more 31_days themes will cure me?
> 
> Alternative title for this chapter: "Akashi's Kinky Barbershop".
> 
> Current title is from the idea that the best thing to encourage your hair to grow faster is to cut it regularly (as I know from actual experience).

He wakes here and there intermittently between the muted symphony of dreams. A deaf man watching the orchestra play, imagining the crescendo through the reverbrations through the floor.

He realizes, by the fifth or sixth time he has come to, that he hasn't actually gone deaf and that he is not imagining the singing. That would be the nose somewhere above him, pressed in an awkward position between the pillow and Akashi's hair, that wheezes in time with the _lug-dub_ of the heartbeat that thumps against Akashi's forehead.

Reality rolls over him, a blanket wave of overreaching fog. He's stolen someone else's space. He's been allowed this close, _so close_ , to the house's glowering hearthfire that jumps and licks little flamelets up his spine and all around, but never, ever to hurt him.

Kagami alone is the exception Akashi makes for the height rule. Thus it is his own fault there are steel-banded arms vised around the trunk of Akashi's body, and tree roots disguised as legs, twining in between with no hope of freedom. A child's unconscious cling.

Broad shoulders block out all the light as Kagami squeezes with boa constrictor strength, tight enough so that even without the generous - overwhelming, really - abundance of bare skin, Akashi is left breathless and borderline gasping.

(Not that he could have spoken anything coherent that night he was clutched so desperately in the same position.)

He would go back to sleep, except for the earthquake tremors that rock through Kagami's arms from time to time. Kagami never seeks to hurt any of them, but oh is his mind good at hurting himself, especially when Akashi is with him - the root of his fear, as it were.

A naked hand against Kagami's back to align their hips even closer together does the trick. (Every time.) Kagami stumbles awake, Akashi's name on his lips. He's already uncoiling before he fully wakes up, rolling away -

\- if it wasn't for Akashi's hand that hasn't moved. 

"I didn't give you permission to leave."

Kagami freezes, then goes boneless at the memory of the night before, when Akashi had demonstrated a carefully pruned and regifted version of his frustration at being forced to return to his family home over Winter Break.

(And his relief at returning to the safest place he's ever known.

He has no doubts as to what he means to Kagami, when he risked fire and ruin for Akashi's life.)

"Scoot down." Because Kagami is the only one he would ever allow to tuck Akashi's head under his chin, as a reminder of shared trauma. "Let me look at you for a moment."

Of course, upon scrutiny, nothing of significance has changed. Sometimes people comment how they could be brothers, but that is only because of the hair color. Kagami's skin tans gracefully in summer, welcoming the touch of sun and inviting touch from others; Akashi's skin has exactly two modes, snow white and lobster red. Their facial structures are simply too disparate, with not enough similarities to be anything closer than cousins. And of course there is also the difference in height.

But Akashi has to give the similarities their due, too. Their fingertips are calloused in the same places. They both prefer to spoon front-to-front as opposed to any other way. And he is reminded of his reflection in the mirror when they are utterly focused in each other and Akashi throws open all the doors to possibility to select the best possible future - in that moment he knows he holds all of Kagami in anticipation for his next move -

\- like now, when the blush creeps unconsciously over Kagami's ears and the back of his neck, then finally dips down over his collarbone in a wash of pink. Still, he tries his level best to meet Akashi's eyes squarely.

"Kiss me," he says, to stave off the urge to _make him spread those big paws against the wall and let me take without mercy_. The distraction works; all further thoughts of total domination fly out of his head at the onslaught of sensation. Kagami kisses firmly and without hesitation, but allows Akashi to set the pace. The intimate contact pricks his interest, removing the invisible pins keeping him prim and properly sorted out of his spine so that he melts, dewy with mute sunbursts against the backs of his eyelids. He hears the aborted sound of the covers crinkling as Kagami forces himself not to reach out.

The unseeing, slow-blinking gaze he gets when they break is better than any kind of Run&Gun gratification. One kiss, and he is now immune to the protests of his own petty and selfish arrogance; he is no longer stubborn enough to resist tracing Kagami's jaw with his thumbnail, watching an uneven pink squiggle form under the skin. On its way, he smears a thin line of saliva, and doesn't even resist the urge see if he can't chase the taste of tiger inside of his mouth.

He loves to defy other people's expectations, so he eases himself gracefully out of the bed. "You need a haircut."

Kagami freezes again, in remembrance of a very different instance of trauma. "Now?"

"Unless you have some other previous engagement I am not aware of?"

"No," Kagami mutters, knowing Akashi would catch him in the lie otherwise. "But I was gonna ask Hyuuga-san tomorrow."

"No need to bother your upperclassman when I am more than proficient with a pair of scissors."

"At least I can buzz it all off if it looks bad."

"I heard that, Taiga." He pronounces Kagami's first name half-mocking, half-fond, as a test. But as always, the _hmph!_ of suppressed amusement means Kagami has only picked up on the latter.

None of the substitutes on hand will prevent Kagami from getting hair down the back of his shirt. They do, however, eventually decide on towels folded into the neck of Kagami's pajama top, and a pair of shears from the sewing basket. Then Akashi is standing over him, weapon of choice in the air, with his reluctant prey glumly at his mercy.

"Please don't try to make me more aerodynamic."

"Nonsense, you should have more faith in me. I know exactly what you need and how you can get it." He tilts Kagami's chin with one finger up to meet his eyes. Just a little haircut, yet with the way Kagami looks, he is reminded of nothing more than a feline nursing a sore tooth. "And such cheek. I should punish you for that."

Kagami doesn't say anything in return, but his hackles do come down a few hairs. His tongue peeks out for a moment to wet his bottom lip; his throat bobs as he swallows reflexively.

They fall silent. Despite his mouthing off - or maybe because of it, combined with the fact Akashi holds the fate of his appearance in his hand - Kagami follows all of his orders immediately: to sit up straight, to wet his hair evenly with a spray bottle when asked, to hold sections away from his scalp as Akashi trims. He can't check what's been done to him until Akashi moves to trim the back. But even then, his expression in the bathroom mirror shows no surprise or censure at Akashi's efficiency, which is unexpected, given the first time he had gone at Kagami with scissors. What a role reversal, as Akashi had been the one who had trusted Kagami's skill then.

He works his way up the sides of the two parts on each side of Kagami's face. Once he falls into the rhythm of work - comb perpendicular to the scalp, and... _snip!_ \- his mind wanders to the burnished tips of Kagami's hair as compared to the roots; the shy left-and-right V-part at the nape of his neck; the tip of one ear that takes three cuts to rediscover. A bit alarming, to think he is cutting away the evidence of a time spent under the same roof. _Time that will continue, if Akashi has anything to say about it._

He doesn't realize how focused he is until big hands settle onto his hips to keep him stationary. Only then does he pause to note how close they are, him with his knees to both sides of Kagami's legs, hovering practically right on top of Kagami's head. Kagami is stiffly locked in place by Akashi's command of _don't move_ , clearly suffering in hidden, tortured embarrassment from the proximity of his mouth to Akashi's crotch.

 _Ah._ Little dreams and ideas rain down haplessly like so many fine hair particles. He snips the last bit with double the care, just in case, but his fingers are still miraculously steady. He takes a moment to fluff the mop in front of him, out of pure disrespect. His hand gets batted away as those shoulders bunch, hackles bared and mock-threatening.

The idea firmly takes root in his lizard brain; then, it is just a matter of grasping the back of Kagami's newly-shorn head, and yanking it back so he can look into his face.

Kagami can never quite seem to hide what he wants. Or, maybe the two of them were just cut from the same cloth after all.

"You can touch me all you like," he pronounces. Each syllable pings like crystal. Kagami's hands spasm, irregular and unpredictable pressure molded around Akashi's hips. "But you cannot touch yourself."

"I'm not done," he adds, when Kagami tries to look away. He lifts Kagami's chin just a little higher, so the light catches on the shine of his bottom lip. "You had better be prepared to do exactly what I tell you, when I tell you. Do I make myself clear?"

Some might expect just a nod, or an uttered answer. It takes Kagami a few seconds longer to think through the knife-edge boundary between pain and pleasure, and turn his head just slightly to the side. His eyelashes paint stark, jutted shadows against his skin, and they flutter shut as he presses a kiss to the heel of Akashi's hand. Careful and considerate. As restrained as Akashi could ever guide him to be.

 _Let this one stay in thrall of me_ , he wants to beg. _Let this one be mine for good._

Then Kagami noses the dip of his pelvis, his visage disappearing from view as he makes his way down. All of a sudden he inhales Akashi with the same force and feeling as he does with a fresh water bottle after a particularly hard war on the paint. Every cell in Akashi's body shudders southward, though his control snaps back immediately to prevent him from outwardly showing anything other than a tightened grip on the back of the chair. The next onslaught is just as demanding, just as terrifyingly dangerous as every bit of rational thought abandons him and he teeters precariously above the urge to tear into each other like madmen.

The split second after he drags Kagami's lush-warm- _good_ mouth away is punishing for the both of them. "I thought we were past this." Kagami's teeth are bared and feral against the painful angle Akashi has him in. Blunt fingers refuse to relinquish their hold, digging bruise-wellpools into Akashi's ass. A thumb brushes dangerously close to where no part of Kagami has ever gone before - not that Akashi hasn't thought of it sometimes, in idle quiet moments, or in the split second after that rictus grin splits Kagami's face into equal parts excitement and challenge.

The grin - grimace, really - is exposed again, now that Kagami can feel heat from the body next to him. The push-retreat of Akashi stroking himself is familiar to both of them, though never so teasingly close to Kagami's jaw. The status quo only lasts for a split second, and just long enough to remind Akashi that this desire is no ordinary affection - to _own_ , to _claim_ , to _tame_ takes so much more work.

Shoulders and legs bunching further for balance, a sliver of challenge that fascinates as much as it arouses - but as it is, Kagami's lunge forward ends only with his teeth clicking shut on open air. This time the amusement is real and shared for the both of them, though. Akashi awards one lifted, sardonic eyebrow, and briefly the answering glare turns fuzzy-soft and maybe a little bit yearning.

He leans down to a distance of a few centimeters away, close enough so Kagami is unable to decide which eye to focus on. "I thought you were different. I thought you understood what I wanted - total obedience."

"If you want that, get a fucking dog," Kagami grits out.

"You know fights harder won are worth more." He lets go only long enough to dart down and steal a bite of Kagami's cheek before he raises Kagami's chin back to the same position.

"How about I train you instead. The challenging ones are always more fun once they clear out their ears and listen, after all - and you are most rewarding to me." His words slice swiftly against Kagami's skin.

"You won't break me."

In more than one way. Not that Akashi would ever want to. "All I do is give you the tools to break yourself in. I know you'll take the running jump yourself - you could never resist." The tone, rather than the murmured content itself, are what make Kagami arch back further, so his head is almost resting perpendicular to the top of the chair. His inhale is a hiss-gasp when his name is called: "Be good now, Taiga."

This time he does - he _is_ \- different. Once he is released, he warily licks and sucks, wet tongue thrashing in tandem with how Akashi's stomach stutters with the effort to keep his breathing even. One hand still rests on Akashi's behind, though, and every so often it will grip with just the right amount of tension to make the exhale depart his nose and mouth in one typhoon wheeze. The thumb is gone - more's the pity.

The pace becomes maddening at a rate far too fast even for Akashi to comprehend; rationality and the churning tick-timer of desire counting out of pace with each other. Before he knows it, heat bleeds forth in the pit of his belly. How patient Kagami is when he tries, even though his every muscle, every tendon is stretched tight with the effort to follow, and not take the lead.

"Just a little faster. Just like that."

The tops of his thighs touch Kagami's shoulders, the backs are being so insistently dragged forward. He's entirely reliant on Kagami's strength now, to hold him steady. His very hair seems liable to shake off of his head with the way they're trembling minutely together with the effort to keep upright. Lips spread and obscene - Akashi marvels the simplicity of this moment, with a red throbbing against his ears that matches the exquisite harmony of his own sex pushing against Kagami's tongue where he can feel it through his fingers, cupped under Kagami's chin as they are. They're both waiting for the next beat to drag him that much closer -

_You are too good to me. To us._

There's still one last thing to do.

" _Yes_ , Taiga. I'm close. And it looks like you are too. Can you come for me when I tell you? Could you come _with_ me, Taiga, even without any help?"

The steadying hand on his hip turns almost painful for a second before it remembers to let go. Kagami glances up as best he can, hair tousled and tufted, mouth still wholly occupied. His other arm steadies the backs of Akashi's thighs as an impromptu bench; desire plucks the tendon-strings, makes his blood sing tea kettle-hot. He's very nearly there, tempo picking up arrhythmia, until the rocking beat becomes a single wave of ringing silence that crests far overhead -

"Now," he breathes as static blasts the backs of his eyelids, he's clenching them so tight. He might have screamed something else - he might have let go of some secret - he might have admitted something he didn't mean to say in that moment, yet he hardly cares. In the sinking, creeping return of ambient sound - the hyperactive drumming that slowly retreats to its regular _lug-dub_ ; the hiss of Kagami's panting through his nose, which is half-squashed against Akashi's leg; Akashi's whole body sending little twinges spiralling in all directions, leftover static charge that zips back and forth before dissipating into his bones.

Kagami swallowed cleanly, he realizes belatedly. And from the look of the mess he's made of himself, he followed Akashi's orders to the letter.

Looking down at the sworl of Kagami's hair, Akashi reflects that this is always the hardest part: finding what to say. Something about Kagami being a prime example of the gross luxury Akashi has at his disposal - something apologetic about his pride being unable to bend - something about Kagami not getting too far ahead of his own ego -

All it takes is one look at how Kagami still looks a little winded with a trickle of white at the corner of his mouth, a little uncertain of his welcome still after all these years, and just a little hopeful - 

Akashi brushes at the bit of come at the corner of Kagami's mouth, then lifts it to his own mouth to suck it off. It doesn't seem like it came from him. It seems like some byproduct of their desire to be one.

"Mine," he murmurs, and leans down for a better taste.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe, just maaaaaaybe...there will be one more after this. Maybe.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Selfies and Superheros](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2602046) by [TheGuestGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGuestGirl/pseuds/TheGuestGirl)




End file.
